


field lines

by oogenesis



Category: Inazuma Eleven
Genre: Drabble Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-06-30 00:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15740607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oogenesis/pseuds/oogenesis
Summary: Collection of drabbles and unfinished fragments.latest: it's expensive to fly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> heyo! months of being into inazuma and constantly writing stuff and barely managing to finish + post any of it, i finally decided to make a dumping ground for so much of the stuff that's just stagnating in my wips. if you follow me on twitter you've probably already seen like all of these but i wanted to just have somewhere to have them up here, the way i did for zexal with star sketches. most of these will be kidou-centric probably. i love him
> 
> this first one is the beginning to a fic i never ended up writing

Early in the third year of high school, during practice one day, Kidou is in the wrong place at the wrong time and gets knocked into one of the goalposts by the ball. Unfortunately for him, it was a hissatsu shoot that slammed him into the metal edge, and even though he feels fine and doesn't even mind the ringing in his ears, really, the fact remains that there's a _lot_ of blood coming from his temple. He’s shunted off to the hospital while the hapless first year responsible apologizes profusely, sounding more upset about it than Kidou himself.

After five stitches and a certain amount of physical tests, the doctor determines Kidou has a mild concussion. He is to stay home from school for at least two days—longer if the lack of coordination persists—and no strenuous physical activity for two weeks. He’s effectively benched until his next checkup.

That sucks, but at least there aren’t any major tournaments upcoming. Kidou bounces his heels against the metal edge of the examination table and wishes the world would stop being disconcertingly blurry around the edges, and the doctor probes the spot around his temple where a nasty bruise is starting to form and asks him if he always wears those goggles.

Kidou’s heart gives a little jump. Yes, he does.

Is that so, says the doctor, well he probably shouldn’t until the stitching gets taken out and the bruising goes down, because the rubber straps and metal edges will press down hard on the sensitive area and greatly slow down healing, not to mention hurt a lot.

The prospect is not enticing.

It’ll take twice as long for the stitches to be taken out if he does wear them, the doctor adds, sounding as though this is all very far to go for just a fashion statement, even though it’s not a fashion statement and never has been. Okay, says Kidou, the world sliding around him. Sure.

That same week he goes to school barefaced for the first time in five years.


	2. Chapter 2

When it was all over the broken god with its wings torn out called all its disciples together and said Come close, my children, and meant to say something else but instead they all held each other, all stripped of their power, naked and shivering and defenseless. In the absence of shadow the light sears. In the absence of walls freedom is overwhelming. In the absence of hurt you begin to realize that you were in fact hurt. They remained like that for a long time and then the broken god wiped its eyes and took a deep breath and said My children, we must stand up. We must keep going - earthbound legs planted against the ground, rising shakily to mortal feet. The broken god said, We can rebuild. The broken god said, We must forge our own path. The broken god said, I'm sorry. From the white scar tissue on the shoulder blades two clean, fledgling wings were beginning to grow.  



	3. fry the machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The price of their ambition is a life closer to death.
> 
> https://theamericanscholar.org/joyas-volardores/

More of them are dying every month, dropping quietly as their hearts burn out, choking off with a gasp and a splutter, sinking into sleep every night and never waking up. Buried under debris if they’re lucky but more often left to grow purple by the road because there isn’t time, there isn’t time, there isn’t time. Onward and onward and onward, driven by the roaring in their ears and in their powerhouse hearts, and to make things worse El Dorado’s fucking with the timeline now too.

“They’re trying to rewrite history,” announces Fei, squatting in a patch of clear ground and peering into the round little detector in his palm. “Trying to rewrite us out of existence, I think. Twinges in the timeline,” and Garo asks if it’s working, and Saru cuffs him over the head and tells him he’s an idiot, of course it isn’t working, they’re still here, aren’t they? Come to think of it, he was wondering why he’d seen less of Protocol Omega around—slender dark gray shapes in the distance, on ledges, watching, leaving in a flash of light when they managed to do all of jack shit, again. So—they went into the past. Whatever. Onward and onward.

“If they do manage it, we won’t know for a while,” says Fei, clambering to his feet and dusting off his pants. “If we’ve been pushed into a dead timeline, there’s no knowing when it’ll crumble. Could be tomorrow. Could be centuries. We could be living on borrowed time.”

Saru rolls his eyes because what else is new, they’re all living on borrowed time, each teeth-clenched heartbeat could be their last. Could be dead tomorrow, nothing new, heard it all before. They buried Telen just last night, dropped a concrete slab on top of the pit where he’d collapsed. A better send-off than most of them got. “Whatever,” he says, “we have to keep going.” 

A few mornings later Fei is gone, a rabbit hop-skip over the moon to where, to where? No time to wonder. Did we lose him? go the half-interested whispers, by which they mean is he dead, there are those who sense when their time is coming and, like cats, crawl away to die in solitude. “Who cares,” says Saru harshly, and they keep going, onward and onward, the crashing thundering energy in their limbs never letting them stop. No time to mourn the dead, no time to wonder where a disappeared rabbit went. They have a world to tear apart, because they’re being torn up from the inside. It’s only fair.

**Author's Note:**

> comments, feedback, criticism are always appreciated!


End file.
